


Men Try Women’s Swimwear and Have Sex While Wearing it

by SophiaThePixelGarden



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Blowjobs, Crossdressing, M/M, Porn Without Plot, handjobs, it’s their first time together, reluctant to tag this PWP even though that’s literally what it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 10:10:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17364029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaThePixelGarden/pseuds/SophiaThePixelGarden
Summary: (it’s the red one)





	Men Try Women’s Swimwear and Have Sex While Wearing it

**Author's Note:**

> i am so sorry: ryan, shane, my friends, family, Marx, Obama, and everyone who reads this. but mostly ryan.
> 
> if your eyes have not yet been blessed, this takes place after this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O3BhP9XKJx4
> 
> SHOUT the fuck OUT to the lady who commented “RYAN LOOKS SO FEMININE I’M SOBBING”. me too, honey. me too.
> 
> ***this is not meant to fetishize men who wear feminine clothing (or anyone else, for that matter). when writing this, i was going off my (extremely limited) experimentation with gender expression as a cis woman. obviously anyone should be able to wear whatever clothing they like in a sexual or non-sexual context.  
> but it’s just an undeniable fact that my boy ryan looked bomb asf in that one-piece.

Ryan fanned himself, sweating under the heat of the harsh, artificial lights. Between changing in and out of tight, nylon suits (not designed to sit comfortably over any part of his body) and feeling at least faintly embarrased at strutting around half-naked in front of the camera crew, he could feel sweat spiking down his back.

He stretched his arms over his head, aiming a final, faux-sultry pose at the camera, the black tankini sliding down his chest.

“Alright, that’s a wrap!” one of the camerawomen yelled, turning her equipment off, signalling for the rest of the crew to follow suit. A moment later, the lights aimed at Ryan were switched off, leaving black spots across his vision.

“Thank God,” he sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “Any longer and I might have to be cut out of this thing.” He hooked his thumb under the black strap, lightly snapping it against his shoulder, before stepping off the set.

He made his way through the small crowd of other Buzzfeed employees, suddenly busied with packing away filming equipment and cleaning up the set, and reached down to grab for the towel he had thrown on the floor.

“Ryan!” someone called out.

He started at the noise, quickly standing up to his full height, paranoid that the lycra shorts hadn’t been as modest as they were comfortable.

“Wh—?” Turning to face the woman that had spoken to him, he automatically put both hands over his crotch. “What?”

She seemed nonplussed, head peeking over the top of the pile of fabric in her arms, and it dawned on Ryan that she was from the costume department.

“You’re getting changed now, right?”

“Sure am.”

“Could you take these with you?” She grabbed a handful of outfits from the top – mostly black, slightly stretched, awfully familiar outfits – and passed them to him, not really holding out for his response. “Just put them on one of the couches or something, and I’ll sort them later.”

“Alright,” Ryan replied, wearily eyeing the people who were walking around the room. Some of them had just walked in, and weren’t hiding their stares.

 _Anything else you want the guy in the tankini to do?_ he wondered. _Maybe you’ve got some weights that need lifting?_

“Great, thanks,” the lady said, not even making eye contact with him anymore. She had spotted someone else to chase up, and began waddling towards them, still carrying the clothes in both arms.

Ryan made for the door, dashing down the hallway to lock himself in the change room.

...

He dumped the clothes on the couch as soon as he walked in, rolling his eyes once he recognized them – the _other_ swimsuits. Pulling his top over his head and throwing it on the pile, he sank down next to them, running his hands through the smooth fabric.

“Why would anyone _choose_ to wear these?” he muttered, tugging at the mass of loose, black ribbons.

He already thought that guys’ swim shorts were embarrassing enough – what with showing so much skin, practically leaving you with nothing but your own body. You had to sell that you were comfortable in yourself, or you just looked like a loser.

Somehow, although the girl’s outfits technically used more fabric, it was even harder to feel good in them. Even after all the squeezing and struggling into them, tying and tugging at the straps, they just never _fit_ right. It all hung loose at the chest, stretching tight over his hips, and Ryan ended up feeling like a kid who’d raided his big sister’s closet.

At least for the video, it was all a kind of experiment – a joke. He could laugh with everyone else, they could tease him, and it wouldn’t even sting. Much.

Ryan aimlessly flicked at the black fabric with his index finger, sending a strap over the edge of the couch, revealing a flash of red underneath.

And then he was shifting on the cushions, pushing the other swimsuits to the side, digging the one-piece out. Holding it with both hands, he remembered what one of the girls behind the cameras had said.

_I think you look hot!_

Ryan scoffed at the memory, feeling his cheeks grow annoyingly warm. He lifted his head, looking over at the makeup tables and full-length mirrors that ran across the wall, and held the swimsuit up.

Alright, sure. Out of the four, it was probably his favourite – you know, assuming he had to pick a favourite, of course.

Black was supposed to be slimming, right? But he liked the red more. It reminded him of those old pinup illustrations, with women laughing and lounging around in some state of undress, smiling through bright red lipstick.

Ryan shook his head, smiling, throwing the one-piece back on the pile. _Who really cares about a dumb swimsuit, anyway?_

He stood up, shimmying out of his black shorts, kicking them up on the couch. Naked, he turned to look at himself in the mirror, and automatically brought one of his arms up, flexing. _Hm._ He tilted his head at his reflection, lightly biting his bottom lip, staring at the muscles in his shoulders.

When he ran a hand over the skin there, it came back damp, warm with sweat.

And then he was back on the couch again, grabbing for the red in a blind rush, stepping through the leg holes. Standing again, stretching until he was on his toes, he pulled the heart-shaped neckline over his chest, tugging the fabric taut, and tied the straps in a messy bow behind his back.

Letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, he relaxed his feet flat on the ground again, and walked over to the mirrors. Swaying his arms back and forth, like he was about to start stretching, he stared at his reflection.

The fabric hugged his torso, clinging to his hips, giving him curves where he was previously all bumps and angles. It gave him a kind of softness, made him look delicate. _Cute._ He scratched the back of his neck, fingers brushing against the bow, before running his hands over the fabric – smooth, slick with that weird, futuristic texture swimsuits have.

Leaning his hands against the edge of one of the makeup tables, he stretched his body forward, bringing his face up to the mirror, and gave a weak smile. Alright, maybe—maybe he could admit, to himself, that he liked this one. He liked the contrast of the feminine curves against his defined, bulky arms. It made him look and feel sweet, but tough.

Cute, but deadly.

He picked one hand up off the table, forming a gun with his index finger and thumb, and mimed shooting the reflection, blowing away the imaginary smoke from the barrel. A second later he was chuckling to himself, melting away the tension that had been building up in his stomach. The reason he’d been in such a rush to get in the swimsuit, he told himself, was because this was probably the last time he’d ever see it, ever get a chance to wear something like it.

For a moment, he imagined walking into a store, asking for something similar, buying it. The idea alone embarrassed him beyond belief, and he waved the thought away, shaking his head. Where would he even wear something like this? The goddamn Buzzfeed changerooms, that’s where.

He tapped his fingers on the surface of the makeup table, looking down when he heard something rattle inside. Pulling open the first drawer at his hip, he found it _filled_ with tubes of lipstick, sitting upright and arranged by colour, shifting from pale, nude tones through a flurry pinks and reds, all the way to dark browns.

Picking up the first thing he saw, he plucked the plastic top off, twisting the tube until a sharp, red finger popped up. Opening his mouth, he worked the smooth, sweet-smelling cream over his lips, coating them in a dark, cranberry red. Carefully closing the lipstick, putting it back on the table, he blew himself a kiss, leaving a faint red mark in the centre of his palm.

He laughed, rolling his shoulders back, and put his hands on his hips. Just as he suspected.

He looked fucking hot.

Just as Ryan was about to resign himself to the fact that it was time to get changed, and that he had to find something to clean his face with, a low buzzing interrupted his thoughts.

He furrowed his brows, searching for the source of the noise, eventually finding it on one of the makeup tables next to him. A phone.

Not just any phone – a phone in a black case he vaguely recognised, sitting at an odd angle, resting on a pop-socket. He let out a confused noise when he saw a photo of Shane and himself – _is that from Knott’s Boysenberry farm?_ – flashing on the screen, with Shane’s name at the top, apparently calling the phone.

Letting it keep ringing, he picked the phone up off the table, turning it over in his hands, smiling when he recognised the blue (wheeze) design on the pop-socket. He was too busy trying to figure out why Shane was calling himself to notice the footsteps that abruptly stopped at the door to the changeroom, only snapping out of it when he heard a sharp knock on the door.

“Hey, anyone in there?”

Ryan stared at the door, clutching the phone in his hand. He slowly put it back on the table, making it vibrate even louder against the plastic, and tried to calm himself with a slow, shaky breath.

 _It’s okay,_ he thought, curling one trembling hand into a fist, trying to calm his mind, convince himself that he had no reason to panic – because, truly, he didn’t. He might’ve been willingly wearing a bright red one-piece, with matching lipstick to boot. He might’ve been posing in a mirror.

And Shane might’ve been knocking on the door, trying to get his phone back. But that was all perfectly, well and truly, one hundred and ten percent _fine_. Obviously, Ryan had locked the door behind himself, so it’s not like Shane could see him, anyway.

_... Right?_

The door rattled for a second, and just as Ryan was about to call out “occupied!”, it flung open, Shane standing in its place.

“Ryan?”

“Shane! What the fuck are you doing?” Ryan shrieked, taking a step back. Shane blinked, glancing over Ryan’s outfit, before pointing to his phone, still buzzing on the table.

“Looking for _that_.” He shifted from one foot to another, scratching the back of his neck, and barely bit back a smile. “Is this a bad time?”

Ryan was too focused on the dull sound of more footsteps coming down the hallway to pay much attention to the sass.

“For God’s sake, close the damn _door!”_ he hissed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Alright,” Shane said, and did exactly as Ryan said, stepping in and pushing the door shut with his back, actually clicking the lock shut afterwards.

“Oh my God, not with you _still inside!”_ Ryan cried out, bringing a hand to his face.

“I panicked,” Shane deadpanned, shrugging. He walked over to grab his phone, ending the call, and slipped it into the back pocket of his jeans. “Plus, I need to have my phone on me at all times. How else can I relate to the teens?” Then he let out a low, playful hum, turning to look at Ryan, a grin spreading across his face. “But enough about me. How are you going, dude?”

“F-fine,” Ryan spluttered, wrapping his arms around his waist, blushing. Then, feebly, “It’s... This is for a video.”

“The bikini?” Shane asked, one eyebrow up, still grinning. “Or the lipstick?”

Ryan smiled a little, despite himself.

“The swimsuit. And, um. It’s called a one-piece.”

“Uh-huh,” Shane said, nodding, bringing a hand up to his chin. “I figured—I mean, I wouldn’t know, but I feel like the lipstick would be an issue in the water. Right?”

“Sure,” Ryan said, leaning against the table again. “Not that I’ve gone swimming in this, or anything.” _I wouldn’t even know how._ “I was just... dipping my toe in.”

Shane chuckled. “In the water?”

“The lipstick.” Ryan puckered his lips, opening them with a loud pop, letting out an embarrassed laugh. “You know, the—what’s it called? The aesthetic.”

Shane made an appreciative noise. “You sure know your stuff.”

“I try.” Ryan absentmindedly ran a hand down his stomach, pushing the wrinkles flat.

“How is it, though?”

“The lipstick?” Ryan asked, taken aback. “I mean, we’ve both—”

Shane waved his hand, cutting Ryan off.

“Not that. The one-piece.”

Ryan stared straight into Shane’s eyes, searching for that usual teasing edge they got when the two of them were doing a bit together, working it for the camera. All he found was the reflection of the overhead fluorescent lights spilling over his eyes, unmoving in his earnest gaze.

And then Ryan wasn’t thinking about the footsteps outside anymore.

“It’s... it’s good.” Ryan cleared his throat. “It feels... really good, actually.” He looked at the ground, fluttering his eyelashes. “I like it a lot.”

Shane nodded again, poking his tongue out the corner of a quiet smile.

“That’s cool,” he said, hooking his thumbs into his jean pockets, drumming his fingers over the denim. “You _look_ good, so, you know.” He glanced over at Ryan’s face after he spoke, noticing that his eyes had grown wide at that last comment, his mouth having fallen ever-so-slightly open.

“Um,” Ryan said, tongue sitting dumb and dry in his mouth. “Thanks,” he eventually managed, finally dropping his arms, letting them hang by his sides.

Shane’s eyes dipped down to his chest, finally getting a full view of the heart-shaped neckline, lingering on the patch of skin exposed above it. He failed to hide a grin behind his hand, and turned to the mirror, pretending to be interested in his own reflection.

“Goddammit, Ryan,” he muttered.

“What?”

“You just,” Shane turned to gesture, frustrated, at Ryan’s body. “You—you look so _good_ in _anything_ , you know? Like, all this does is show off your ridiculously muscular arms. It’s not fair.”

“That’s—that’s not true,” Ryan giggled, bringing his index finger up to his mouth. “This is the only one they gave me that I could wear without either flashing my junk or looking like someone’s mother.”

Shane chuckled at that, before he started to stare, hard, at Ryan’s mouth. Tilting his head, he took a step forward, mumbling something.

“What’re you—?” Ryan jolted as Shane brought a thumb against the corner of his mouth, cupping his jaw. The skin on his hands was rough, a little dry, pressing firm against Ryan.

“Your lipstick,” Shane murmured, swiping his thumb over the edge of Ryan’s bottom lip. “I think it’s—”

Ryan didn’t let him finish, wrapping his fingers in Shane’s hair, pulling his head down – quick, worried that if he didn’t do something now, he never would – and kissed him, gently pressing their lips together, softly swiping his tongue out.

He pulled back a few seconds later, head rushing hot, every stretch of his exposed skin burning red.

Shane just blinked, his hand still resting on Ryan’s face.

“...smudged,” he whispered, the corner of his now faintly red-stained lips quirking up.

“Oh.” An odd, breathless pause. “Well, yeah,” Ryan breathed, glancing at himself in the mirror, lazily running a finger over his top lip. He turned back to Shane, looking up at him through heavily lidded eyes. “I guess it is, now.”

Shane scratched the back of his neck, an embarrassed smile flashing over his face, before he stepped forward, bringing their mouths together for another kiss.

Ryan reached up to grab his shoulders, steadying himself as Shane’s tongue pushed through – hot, wet, hungry. Digging his nails into the fabric of Shane’s shirt, Ryan huffed against his mouth, groaning when Shane bit down on his bottom lip.

“Jesus,” Shane mumbled, pulling back for a second, panting. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he said, pushing his knee between Ryan’s legs. “You know that, right?”

Ryan took the opportunity to arch his back, pushing his chest up. Arms wrapped around his naked back, Shane bent down to suck at Ryan’s neck, biting at his collarbone, making his way down to his chest. He worked his mouth over the exposed skin, just a few inches over Ryan’s nipples.

The heat of Shane’s mouth made Ryan shudder and moan, his fingers curling harder against his shoulders, the sensation too much and not enough.

He barely even noticed one of Shane’s hands brushing against the back of his neck, tugging at the straps, pulling the bow loose. All he knew was that he had to sit down, soon, or his legs, trembling under him, would give out.

“The c-couch,” Ryan whispered, pulling himself up until his mouth was level with Shane’s ear, breath soft against his skin. “Please.”

With that one word, Shane was hooking his arms around Ryan’s butt, grunting as he lifted him up. Ryan let out a surprised squeal, wrapping his legs over Shane’s back, holding onto his shoulders. He carried him to the couch, standing back as Ryan sunk into the soft cushions.

“What do you wanna do?” Ryan huffed, flushed chest rising and falling in time with his ragged breaths.

Shane grinned, bending a knee against the couch, sitting down to straddle Ryan.

“You, baby.” He winked, a familiar, mischievous light flickering over his eyes. “At this point, I figured that was pretty obvious.”

Ryan rolled his eyes, tempted to kick one of knees up against Shane’s crotch, but suppressed the urge.

He didn’t have to wait long to find the real answer out, anyway.

A moment later, Shane was touching Ryan through the front of the swimsuit, softly pressing his fingers against his chest, lingering over his nipples. Ryan reflexively bucked into the pressure, the stretch of the tight fabric making him sweat.

Shane laughed at that, and purposely pulled back an inch, hovering his hands over Ryan.

“Shane,” Ryan begged, a line of lipstick-red saliva running down the side of his mouth. He reached out to grab Shane’s hands, trying to pull them back down to his body. “Fucking hell.”

“Magic word,” Shane murmured, a devilish grin spilling over his face.

“Fucking _please_!”

Satisfied, Shane rocked against Ryan’s hips and hooked his fingers under the neckline of the swimsuit, pulling it down by the straps. The nylon ran slick over Ryan’s chest, making his nipples perk up, as Shane fumbled with the straps, tugging the fabric down, bunching it up at Ryan’s stomach.

Desperate for a harder touch, he groaned, pushing down on Shane’s shoulders, grinding up against the weight of his body. Shane hushed him with a kiss, tongue lapping against the side of his mouth, as he lazily worked his hands over Ryan’s bare nipples. Ryan moaned against his mouth, carrying the noise loud and long.

A few moments later, Shane was shifting, pressing a line of quick kisses down the side of Ryan’s neck, smirking against his skin. Ryan gasped once Shane reached his nipples, softly sucking and biting on one, his hand teasing and playing with the other. Ryan melted into the touch, sprawling his limbs loose over the couch, forming a lazy fist in Shane’s hair.

Shane snaked one of his hands down Ryan’s stomach, stopping at the outline of his erection, pushing down, smiling when he felt how hard he was. The movement made Ryan jerk up against him, his breath hitching in his throat.

“Shane, baby,” he whimpered. “If we don’t do something soon, the suit’s gonna be ruined.”

Shane laughed, sliding off the couch to kneel on the ground, his head between Ryan’s legs.

“We’ll just have to take it home, then,” he murmured, curling a hand around the back of Ryan’s left knee. “Give it a wash.” He lifted Ryan’s leg up, hooking it over his shoulder, making him gasp. “Use it again.”

He didn’t give Ryan time to think about that last bit, bringing his mouth down a second later, sucking and humming against the soft skin of his thigh.

Ryan shuddered, trying to stifle a moan, shoving his shaky hand against his mouth, coating his fingers in sticky, red saliva. But he couldn’t stop himself, crying out as Shane’s stubble scratched rough against his skin. He bucked up as Shane lapped his tongue against his inner thigh, writhing, wet and dirty, before gently biting down, shooting hot sparks of pain and pleasure through Ryan’s body.

Shane worked his mouth up to the top of his thighs, kissing up to the bottom edge of the swimsuit. He slid two fingers into the bottom strip, stretching the fabric back and pushing it to the side, pulling Ryan’s throbbing cock out. Barely biting a groan back, he wrapped his fingers around the base, thumbing over the slit as he ran his hand over the entire length.

He worked slow, teasing Ryan, making him whimper, tremble under his slick, too-delicate touch, before he took him in his mouth. Grinning, he worked his tongue over the hot skin, licking up a drop of pre-come.

“Come for me, Ryan,” he hummed, the words vibrating against his dick.

Ryan brought a hand up to his mouth, biting down, moaning through his fingers. He writhed against the couch, the movement making the bunched-up fabric push against his stomach, cut into the top seam of his thigh, as he came, hard, against Shane’s tongue.

A few seconds later, Shane was pulling his head back, slow, panting, wiping the corner of his mouth. He swallowed, making his Adam’s apple jut out, before he leaned on his forearms, pushing against Ryan’s thighs, biting his bottom lip in a lazy grin.

“Not how I expected to start my fucking Wednesday afternoon,” he huffed, swirling a finger over Ryan’s leg. “But I’m... not complaining.”

“You will be, if I don’t take care of you,” Ryan teased, lightly bumping his knee against Shane’s chest. “Get up here.”

Shane was up in a second, sitting next to him, as Ryan pulled him by the collar, going in for another hot, messy kiss. He fumbled with his belt for a bit, sliding a hand under the waistband of Shane’s boxers, and pulled his dick out, pumping it in time to their staggered, hungry breaths.

Soon, Shane was moaning against his mouth, grinding against him, folding, coming into his touch. Ryan brought his hand up to his mouth, afterwards, staring at Shane, his dark eyes wide and glossy, as he licked up the sides of his fingers, the taste of Shane salty on his tongue.

Shane sighed, flopping his head on Ryan’s shoulder. They sunk into the couch together, breath falling fast, uneven against each other.

...

“You gotta get back to work,” Ryan eventually sighed.

“And you don’t?” Shane laughed, shifting on the couch, doing up his belt.

“It’s, uh... If we leave together,” Ryan mumbled, muffling his voice against Shane’s shirt. “It’s suspicious.”

Shane smirked, brushing a hand against the back of Ryan’s neck.

“I guess. But when will I see you again?”

“When I get back to my desk,” Ryan giggled, lightly punching Shane’s shoulder. “In a few minutes.”

“And after that?”

Ryan smiled, looking up at the ceiling.

“Whenever you want.”

Shane got up after that, leaning down to give Ryan one last kiss before he left.

Once Ryan had changed back into his normal clothes, he turned to the mirrors, giving himself one last check. Swiping his palm across his mouth, he hoped that he was just imagining the faint red smear that remained, and didn’t bother to try and clean it off.

When he looked down, though, he noticed the tube of lipstick he’d taken out, still sitting on the table. Grinning, he picked it up, and – looking over his shoulder, making sure no one else had crept in without him noticing – he put it in his bag, dropping it on top of the mass of red, bunched-up fabric he’d already shoved in there.


End file.
